


Too Much of a Good Thing

by Lyrastar



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s03e12 Plato's Stepchildren, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-01
Updated: 2003-01-01
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrastar/pseuds/Lyrastar
Summary: Fun with kironide.





	Too Much of a Good Thing

"Captain's log, Stardate 5784.9: We are en route to Starbase 7 to deliver the Platonian refugee for debriefing and resettlement. Earth historians and galactic sociologists are already queuing for interview time. What he can tell us of ancient earth, other early visitors, interplanetary colonization and travel will occupy them for years." But first, thought Kirk ruefully, I have to pry him away from my own ship's historian. Lieutenant Nguyen was clearly entranced with Alexander and he with her. It didn't take a philosopher-king to see that it was not just professional. Well, someone should get to go home with the girl when the music ended and Jim couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more. Himself excluded, naturally.

He rose and stretched his badly abused body. His tissues screamed in protest every step of the way to the bunk. He didn't think there was a muscle in him that was not tight and sore. Even his eyelids hurt. Stripping efficiently, he dispatched his uniform across the room to the 'fresher. The hatch swung open to admit the bundle then slid closed. "Lights out," he commanded crisply. The room darkened, now illuminated only by the glow from his desk terminal. He lifted his head to look towards it. The switch clicked off leaving him in the perfect black of night.

He tossed in the bed trying to find a comfortable position. It was apparently not to be. Giving up, he lay still on his back calling upon his favorite alpha hypno-routine to quiet the body and mind. It rarely failed him, but tonight it seemed to be having the converse effect. He realized he had been wrong; there was one muscle that had not been stiff and aching, but now even it had decided to get into the act. Reflecting that his new powers might be more useful than he had imagined, Kirk concentrated on making it go down. It worked--sort of. Now he had a painful throbbing hard-on pointing straight down to his feet. Terrific. Well, there was always the old-fashioned solution.

"Lights--one quarter," he groaned, rising painfully to the edge of the bed as his anatomy returned to the full upright and locked position. A white robe sailed across the room. He caught it and shrugged it on as he padded across to the adjoining cabin.

As always, he entered without signaling. The cabin lights were out, but the lambent glow of the watcher illuminated the sleeping quarters in numinous red light. Spock lay supine on the bed, eyes open, robed arms across his chest. Kirk stopped short in the doorway. The sting of pungent Vulcan spices battered his nostrils. How queer to see his Spock like this.

For a moment he tried to comprehend the mysteries of humanity. The dichotomy that was Spock: so much a part of him and at the same time so utterly alien. The Platonians: representing the best of what a civilization could be as well as the worst. Alexander: too weak to break free in two centuries, or too strong to lose his beautiful spirit through all those years? He had no answers.

Spock sat up and regarded him, once again the comfortable companion. "Captain?" he inquired politely.

Declaring a pox on all onerous questions for the night, Kirk grinned and crossed the short distance to the bunk. "May I come in?"

Ever willing to play the game at this man's whim, Spock re-joined, "Captain, your presence is always welcome. However, as you are already 'in', I submit that the question is irrelevant."

"Well, Mr Spock," said the captain sliding under the sheets, "there is in, and then there is *in*."

Meditation clearly at an end for the night, Spock rose to drape the black robe over the nearby chair. He climbed into the narrow berth feeling a most un-Vulcan contentment as the captain's warm form molded itself around him.

Buried in his neck, Jim took a deep breath, inhaling the essence of his love. Reveling in the moment, his hands prowled hungrily over the woolly chest. He delighted in each ripple, each muscle which leapt in answer to his touch. His own soreness effectually forgotten, he lost himself in the enchantment of watching his logical XO unravel beneath his touch. With each quiver his heart swelled anew, trying and failing to comprehend the miracle that this Spock would ever and always exist only for him.

The Vulcan ineffectually commanded his body to relax. His own pains of the flesh were also long gone from his awareness, as well they should be, but for all the wrong reasons. Barely suppressing a moan as fingers brushed the tender skin between leg and groin, he rallied for one last stab at sensibility. It crossed his mind to wonder that if a logical argument were certainly doomed to fall to an illogical response, would it be more logical to present the argument or to simply accede in silence? He suspected that he would have many future opportunities in which to run this experiment.

"Captain, it has been a most trying day." His words rasped in his own ears, shocking him anew with the realization that in mere seconds this human could so easily undermine years of carefully established discipline. Somewhat more steadily, "We both require a period of recuperation. While your presence is most pleasant, I suggest discontinuing your current actions in deference to greater restfulness."

"Mmmmfh," came the muffled reply from his side. The deaf hands continued their relentless southward assault as a familiar wet softness worshiped his nape, his neck, his ear.

"Sure," the voice permeated his being. "Whatever you say. I'm just going to hug your back a for a little while." The Vulcan was flipped economically on his left side as muscular arms engulfed him from behind and pulled him closer still.

A tube arced neatly across the room coming to nest neatly in the human's palm with a distinctive thud.

"Jim...."

"Relax. Go to sleep if you want. Don't mind me." The moist breath tingled in his ear. "But first, pull your knee up." An unmistakable challenge. Spock shifted slightly. "No, not like that--here."

The Vulcan's right leg suddenly flew up into a most improbable position. "That was entirely unnecessary. It was always my intention to comply fully."

"Mm, right." The tones murmured absently into his back. The Vulcan's body slid up the bed. Not coincidentally, his anal entrance was left perched just at the tip of his captain's predictably eager penis. Lubrication applied, the tube rolled to the deck.

"How long will this last anyway?" Jim asked, carefully working his way past the sphincter and settling into the familiar depths of his lover.

"That depends on a number of factors including degree of arousal, amount of stimulation applied to erogenous zones, the interval length since last ejaculation...." A pillow shot straight up to the ceiling and landed with a resounding thud on a pointed ear before sliding lazily to the deck.

"No, silly, " Jim grunted between thrusts, "I mean the kironide effects."

"Unknown," he choked as dusky nipples began to toggle violently. One strong hand clamped them tightly together at the pelvis. Another had reached around to the dark penis and begun pumping earnestly in syncopation with the rhythm established from behind.

"Oh, god, you feel good," Jim grunted, losing himself in the ecstasy of their joining. With considerable satisfaction he felt the Vulcan's hips moving involuntarily beneath his hands. Unable to resist the temptation he added, "But I thought you were going to sleep." He arched his back to better his angle of attack.

The abandoned pillow rose up from the deck, hovered, then shot along the most efficient trajectory to hit the human squarely in the face. Hard.

"Hey!" Jim fell back, startled.

The Vulcan rolled over to face his distinctly unamused bedfellow. "You make a valid point, Captain. Since we are uncertain how much longer we shall have to experience these effects, perhaps we should take advantage now."

The testy response came immediately, "I was in the middle of doing that when--"

"Jim, I merely suggest a little more experimentation may be in order."

Incredulously, "I'm not CREATIVE enough for you?"

Spock stifled a sigh. "My experience on Platonius suggests to a high degree of certainty that other techniques may be employed which would significantly enhance the recipient's gratification."

"Such as?"

"DooOOH!" Jim got his answer as a blinding surge of pleasure swelled out from his prostate drowning him in wave after merciless wave. His torso vaulted, launched forcefully upwards by the explosive heat that overcame his belly, his groin. He grasped tetanically at the sheet, incidentally wrapping it around a convulsing forearm. Twisting and gyrating, he dangled head and torso off the bed when a matching sensation erupted in his nipples searing through his chest. Mindlessly he flung his arms up to rub himself, desperate to quench the flames. The shift in center of gravity was too much. He tumbled headfirst off the berth landing smack on the discarded tube, which exploded, smearing his backside with slippery gel.

Tangled in folds of robe and bedding, he writhed across the deck, seized by continual throes of terrible pleasure. Leaning over the edge of the bunk, the Vulcan observed curiously.

Jim arched himself one last time as his body surrendered to the inevitable. Spasm after torturous spasm wrenched him as hot semen erupted into the air. He bowed up in a futile attempt to protect his miserable genitals from further assault. Spurt after spurt propelled itself out to run impotently down his stomach and hips. Spent and dry his balls continued to contract and pulse long after having nothing left to give but absolute, pitiless rapture. His ears roared and his vision tunneled, a last warning before looming unconsciousness. Mercifully the pleasure ebbed and he could at least breathe again.

"Fascinating," the Vulcan thought aloud. A 52 second orgasm. "Jim?"

A twitch of the neck was the only response from the prostrate form on the deck. Mission accomplished, the body floated slowly upwards, fabric slipping to the ground. The Vulcan shifted backwards on the small bunk. The sheet rearranged itself in the air and the human was nestled snugly under it into warm, waiting curves. "Jim?" he repeated softly, reverently kissing the sweaty neck.

"Mmmm." The exhausted human turned ever so slightly towards his lover. It was enough. The horrors of the day not nearly as far from his thoughts as he had believed, Spock closed his arms protectively around the only man he would ever love. He regarded the human with a tenderness no other living soul would have suspected. "Now Jim, if it pleases you, kindly go to sleep."


End file.
